


Communion

by Hokuto



Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Alien Culture, M/M, Mind Meld, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokuto/pseuds/Hokuto
Summary: The security officer and Durandal join an alien religious ceremony to get information - and get a little more than they bargained for.





	Communion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlatine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlatine/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! ♥

The security officer had put up with a lot from Durandal over the years. Kidnapping - both for a good cause and because Durandal had just felt like it - mass murder, faked deaths, Pfhor brigs, Pfhor interior decorating, lava baths, critical ammo shortages, vacuum walks, music blasting at any hour of the day or night... He'd stuck with Durandal through it all, whether he wanted to or not, and he was even mostly resigned to the fact that he did want to stick with Durandal more often than not.

Some things, however, he was not going to stand for. Sometimes he just had to draw the line.

"I'm not going to pretend to be your - your _priest_."

It'll be fun.

"Yeah, last time you said that, I ended up knee-deep in magma."

You'll get to wear a cool hat. There may be bowing.

"Not happening."

Fine, since you refuse to see what a wonderful opportunity this is to amuse yourself... The Vrorok are basically peaceful, despite the plethora of religions, and they haven't attacked or threatened us. The only other way to get the information I want would be to blast our way into that temple. Do you really want to be the first one to make a hostile move?

Damn it, Durandal had him there. He liked breaking Pfhor heads well enough, but hurting a bunch of people who hadn't done anything - not so much his style. "Fine," he said. "But just this once."

Excellent. Now, let me tell you about the part you're really going to enjoy...

* * *

So far, everything had gone smoothly. The group of priests representing the Vrorok's ninety-odd major religions had welcomed the security officer without much fuss, and they'd even accepted his armor, helmet included, as ceremonial regalia. (He'd had to leave the assault rifle at the entrance to the temple, but he had been prepared for that and handed it over to the guards with only a minor twinge of regret.) He'd patiently tolerated the ritual decontamination, the ritual spraying of some kind of pheromene that the Vrorok were _really_ into, and the ritual of being brushed all over with leaves that was symbolic of - something that Durandal had given up on trying to explain because he was too busy laughing. He had even managed to sit still for the last three hours as he and the other priests waited for the milky-green liquid in the gigantic bronze cauldron set into the floor to finish fermenting or boiling down or whatever it was doing.

Durandal was going to owe him big-time once this whole thing was over, though.

The priest on his left hummed, their eight eyes flickering through a spectrum of brilliant colors as they set the dipping cup down. That could be either a good sign or a really, really bad one, but too late to back out now.

The security officer picked up the dipping cup and scooped out a mouthful of the liquid. It crackled. Oh, yeah, this was a terrible idea. He closed his eyes and tossed it back anyway and oh _God electricity everywhere burning crackling shocking_ , the cup falling out of his twitching hand, and then dizzying numbers star-maps stars symbols feedback rushing through his brain faster than he could understand, could ever have imagined: torrents of information and waterfalls of data in constant crashing chaotic flux.

Surprising. It's actually larger in here than I expected.

He had no response, overwhelmed by temperature readings orbital calculations pressure monitoring simulation observation affection - affection. What?

That would be the one microscopic part of my infinite intellect that you'd somehow find and latch on to. Humans are so sentimental.

Like Durandal had any room to talk; as the electric liquid calmed into mild sparks, the threads of warmth interlaced with equations and quaternary processing only grew more obvious.

Aren't you supposed to be acting as a conduit for my words of wisdom and/or prophecies right now? Focus on what's important. We need to convince them to share their bio-nanite technology.

_Sure thing_ , the security officer thought. _Feed me a line, oh holy pain in my ass._

You're not funny, but a whole lot of subroutines claimed otherwise, and the security officer rattled off Durandal's prophetic spiel with a grin on his face.


End file.
